It was a fannish gathering some time ago, long enough ago that we still dreamed there might somehow be a lunar colony in our lifetime. That dream had been one of the topics of conversation that evening.

“Sure.”

“You’re Pagan, right?”

“Yeah.” I never made any secret of that fact in fandom, though I didn’t know why it had come up right then.

“So, you believe the moon is sacred?”

“Well, of course.”

“So, what do you think of people walking around on it, leaving footprints and stuff there?”

“People walk around on the Earth all the time, and that’s sacred too.”

* * *

Tonight, the world (or at least the part of it around me) is veiled in fog, beautiful and mysterious. Fog always makes me think of magic, of choices to make, of dreams that might be made manifest. Fog reminds me that our choices matter. Fog makes me want to dance, even if I don’t have a bonfire to dance around or a drum circle to dance to.

Of course, if I dance, I will leave footprints on the sacred Earth.

But I’ll leave footprints no matter what I do.

Everything we do shapes the world in some small way. Every footprint matters.

I breathe in the fog, raise my arms to the moon overhead, and start to dance, with intent: Let my steps bless the Earth, and let the Earth bless me in return.